


there's no rush

by shirohyasha



Category: Uta no Prince-sama
Genre: M/M, Post S4E8, Pre-Relationship, Undressing, but also really not
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-20
Updated: 2018-09-20
Packaged: 2019-07-14 17:09:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16044878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shirohyasha/pseuds/shirohyasha
Summary: Masato is free, in one sense of the word, and the formal clothes he leaves in are all he has left of his family.They're also not the easiest thing in the world to take off.





	there's no rush

**Author's Note:**

> that outfit sure was something huh

Sumeragi does not deign to comment when Ren follows Masato into his hotel room, and neither of them really care what he thinks. Sumeragi is not their friend but he is honourable, and petty rumours are beneath him.

Ren locks the door behind them while Masato figures out the lights and draws the curtains. They will go home early tomorrow morning, back to the hectic madness that is their everyday lives, but Sumeragi and Ren had silently decided that Masato got the evening off.

So they’re here.

Ren doesn’t offer to help and Masato doesn’t ask, but Masato stands in the middle of the room and waits patiently, and once Ren has shed his own suit jacket and removed his tie he makes his way over to him.

The clothes are heavy, more than anything else. Ren unhooks the braided rope fastening the first layer and coils it carefully on the desk. Masato turns his head a little, to keep him in his line of sight.

He next removes the white jacket that makes up the outermost layer of his outfit from his shoulders. Masato is slim and the jacket fits him perfectly. The thick silk whispers as Ren carefully, ever so carefully, slides it off his shoulders and down his arms.

Ren folds the jacket and leaves it on the bed. They will need to call someone to put the whole outfit in storage tomorrow, but it’s late and they’re tired and he doesn’t feel like talking to anyone.

Masato could probably remove the whole thing on his own correctly, but that’s not the point of any of this.

It’s the most beautiful outfit Ren has ever seen. Say what you will about Hijirikawa’s family – and there is a lot to say, a lot more than Ren ever will say – but they have an excellent tailor.

“Arms,” Ren says, and Masato lifts them. Ren wraps his arms around Masato’s waist, an imitation of an embrace, but he only lingers a moment longer than is necessary to undo the fastenings of the next layer and slide it down Masato’s legs. Ren kneels in front of him, heedless of his own expensive suit trousers. Masato puts a hand on his shoulder and lifts first one foot and then the other, and Ren pulls the skirt free with no more fanfare than that. Masato’s hand is very warm through the thin cotton-silk blend of his shirt.

The only times Ren has ever seen a white kimono on the living is at a wedding. Whichever interpretation he chooses, it means that Hijirikawa’s father has a pretty sick sense of humour.

Ren stands to fold the hakama, mindful of the elaborate waist. He’d sat through all the lessons, learned to wear and put on and take off all the necessary trappings of these horribly formal outfits, though his brother rarely, if ever, bothered to make them compulsory. It was something he’d been expected to know, and it has been a long time since he’d had to use those lessons.

The obi comes off next. Ren stands behind him and picks at the knot as delicately as he can, and when it comes open he winds his arm around Masato’s waist instead of just pulling it free. Masato raises his arms a little to accommodate him.

There are autumnal colours woven into the fabric, barely-there threads of colour against the stark white. It really is a beautiful garment. He really is a beautiful man.

Ren moves to stand in front of Masato and doesn’t look away from his face as he pushes the kimono off his shoulders and pulls it carefully from his arms. Masato stares back, unblinking.

They’re close enough to kiss now, but they won’t. For one thing, Ren has his arms full of white silk. For another, they never do.

Ren drops the kimono onto the bed and folds it carefully. The undergarments Masato is left in are more colourful than the kimono, more red and orange than white and patterned through with the same leaves as the kimono itself. Ren takes his time looking.

Masato could have taken off the kimono himself, most likely, and he’s definitely capable of taking off the undergarments, but he doesn’t move.

Ren lifts his hand up, brushes it over Masato’s hip. This far into the proceedings he can feel the warmth leaking through the silk and he lingers. His fingers curl, for just a second, to fit the shape of Masato’s hip and then he drops it, and starts to work on the undergarments.

“My father effectively disowned me today,” Masato says quietly. “I am no longer the Hijirikawa heir and thus no longer his concern.”

Ren hums and pulls loose the final layer of clothing before he reaches Masato’s skin. Something snags and he moves to stand behind him, and carefully pulls free the slight tangle around his waist while he waits for Masato to finish speaking.

“My father is no longer in a position to disapprove of my personal life,” Masato says after a moment. “I realise he was not the main obstacle, but he was one of them.”

Ren wraps his arms around Masato’s chest and pulls the final layer free. He lets his hands hover, never touching his skin for more than a moment, only ever a soft brush of contact.

The main obstacle would be their jobs. Other obstacles include Ren’s brother, Hijirikawa’s father, and society at large.

“It’s something,” Ren agrees, and presses his lips to Masato’s bare shoulder. A brief point of contact, a bare handful of seconds of something they couldn’t excuse if it was found out. Masato doesn’t react at all for a long time.

“I wish you wouldn’t make things harder on yourself than they need to be,” he whispers eventually. Ren laughs a little as he finishes folding the juban.

“I can’t help myself,” he admits, then frowns. “You’ve never been the model of restraint, either.”

Masato is at least as bad as he is, actually.

He places the neatly folded pile of cloth on top of the other neatly folded piles of cloth and sets them all on the desk, to free up the bed. “Sit,” he says, and Masato does.

Ren kneels, again caring not at all about his own clothes. Masato still has his underwear on, had been wearing briefs underneath his layers and layers of formal wear, and Ren is unimaginably grateful for that right now.

It’s the work of a moment to pull off his socks, and Ren presses a kiss to the inside of one pale knee before standing back up to put them with the other formal clothes. Masato watches, eyes dark, as he does.

Ren finds the loose yukata that the hotel provides and Masato stands again, lets him wrap him in it and tie it carefully.

“A single degree of freedom,” Ren muses, one hand on the obi. Ostensibly, he’s tying the knot there, but his hand is closer to Masato’s side than his back and neither of them mention it.

“Yes,” Masato says. “Which is all we will have for several more years.”

Ren takes his hand and kisses his fingers. Masato sighs, and reaches up to undo the top button of his shirt.

“I cannot return the favour tonight,” he says, almost wistfully. Ren grins at that.

“You did want to, though?” he asks.

“You must make things difficult, Ren.” Masato cups his cheek and leans in, kisses him very lightly on the corner of his mouth. “Go now. Please.”

Ren presses one more kiss to the back of Masato’s hand and does.

**Author's Note:**

> this is part of a bigger thing im working on about clothes and gifts and acts of service, but im not happy with any of it except this and i think it works well enough to stand on its own, so here.


End file.
